Silver Lining
by AAmuse
Summary: After the events of On the Nature of Wind, which led to his court-martial, Scotty's working in Lunar Spaceport, not exactly the most cheerful place in the galaxy. One day he has a most unusual visitor...


**Disclaimer**: Scotty belongs to Paramount, Corry and Melinda belong to SLWatson, and Alika's mine.

**Fandom**: TOS: Arc of the Wolf

**Written for**: Stephanie Watson

**Beta by**: Stephanie Watson

**Raiting**: G

**Codes**: Sc

**Author's note**: A rather clumsy attempt to make an addition to Steff's magnificent universe.

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**Silver Lining**

By Anna Amuse

--

_**2244**_

A sound registered vaguely at the periphery of his mind, too faint and improbable to attract his conscious attention. It resembled a light cough—a polite soft sound meant to convey the idea of a presence but not to interfere.

No one could be making this sound in the stinky greasy gullet of the Lunar Spaceport at six thirty in the morning.

Scott was working on the old cutter that used to be assigned for diplomatic pouches and couriers, traveling mostly from Earth to Tellar. And if the Tellarite space dockers had so much as cleaned the rust off the hull in twenty years, they had hid their efforts well.

Scott was currently replacing the empty power cells, used to feed the highlight of the hull and two lamps distinguishing port from starboard. The work was more suitable for a mechanic, than an engineer, but Scott didn't complain.

He never complained about his assignments, even though he sometimes suspected that it was expected of him. Certainly the look on the Chief Supervising Officer's face never failed to give credence to this theory. The mean light kindled in his eyes every time he handed out work orders, and it was clear that nothing would have pleased him more than to hear Scott protest. It probably would have felt nice to remind him that he ended up here through no other fault than his own, and that he should be grateful that Starfleet had granted him any kind of assignment at all.

It never worked though. Scott always took his order with a brief 'Aye, sir' and that was the end of it. It wasn't about not giving the CSO the satisfaction of following his lead, though, as an added bonus it was somewhat pleasant. But the point of fact was Scott didn't need any kind of reminders. He knew precisely why he was there. And he didn't need a lecture from Harris to know that it could have been worse.

Besides, Scott was content to realize that for him this was merely a punishment. A deserved punishment at that. For Harris, on the other hand, this was the only posting he could get, with his level of skill and administrative talents. The simple truth between them was that Scott was getting out of there, sooner or later. Harris wasn't.

Only once did Scott give him the pleasure of asking him for something. Asking persuasively, though not quite begging. It happened when a certain piece of news from Vulcan reached him via South Bristol. A rather disturbing and sparse piece of news, which made him itch with anxiety and impatience to learn more.

The scanty note that Mrs. Corrigan received stated, with profound Vulcan concentration on the essential information only, that Corry was feeling sufficiently unwell to be dismissed from classes and be placed under medical supervision. His condition was said to be 'threatening to his health and efficiency.'

Melinda called Scotty late that night, asking if he had or could get any details. It was not easy to see her this nervous, and it was even less easy to give some reassurance when he so desperately needed it himself.

Scott was very busy that night. He placed several calls to Vulcan, attaching the transmission, without any kind of hesitation, to the priority Starfleet carrier-wave. His conscience gave him no pangs about it. If his tampering with communications had been discovered, it would have certainly been the last thing he had ever done as a Starfleet officer, but he got lucky. That night no one was paying attention.

His efforts had been mostly in vain, however. Corry's personal line remained silent, and when Scotty had finally discovered—after many prevarications, lies and not so very well covered threats—the name of the healer treating the human student, he had told Scott nothing of value and refused to wake up his patient to let Scott talk to him.

The healer had said that Ensign Corrigan had been culpably negligent regarding his own health. That had done little to comfort Scott in any way. Firstly, because he could very well believe in that, and secondly, because it sounded like his friend had gotten himself into trouble with his superiors—again. But this time, without Scott.

It was then that he went to Harris to ask him for a leave of absence. He knew excessively well that his chances weren't remotely promising, but he had to try it anyway. It had probably been the first time in half-a-year that the Chief Supervisor had heard so many words from Ensign Scott.

Contrary to what Scott had expected, Harris didn't gloat. He listened, frowned and then asked briskly for reasons.

Family emergency, Scott replied at once without thinking. Even given time, he didn't believe he could have come up with another reason.

But then, he was asked as to what member of his family was in trouble, and realized he had come to a dead-end. There was simply no way, no way at all that Starfleet was going to recognize Corry as Scott's sibling. Knowing that, he had no other choice but to settle on a 'close friend' then.

His request was denied immediately. There was no sign of some perverted dark joy in Harris' eyes at the fact. He had acted within regulations. 'And regulations, Mr. Scott, are something you must learn to respect.'

Scotty couldn't exactly say he remembered the next four days all that well. Between the lack of any news, nightly calls from/to Earth and ever-mounting workload, not to mention the vague worry about someone in the brass discovering his activity of that night, he could only recall living in some kind of indistinguishable blur of days and nights, filled with simple actions. By the time Melinda called him with news that finally brought some clarity and reassurance, he had almost been ready to go AWOL.

Later the same night he had received a call from Corry. He had looked so sheepish and vulnerable that Scott didn't even have the heart to yell at him the way he obviously wanted to. It was a close call, but then, life had gradually returned back to normal.

From that moment on, though, Harris had changed his attitude towards Scott. It was almost as if by showing the CSO that there were more important things for him than his own pride, the Ensign had earned what little amount of respect Harris was capable of granting him.

Not that Scott cared one way or the other.

There it was again, that sound that alerted him.

Scott placed the empty power cell carefully in the holder and looked up over the bow edge.

There was nobody there.

Shrugging and shaking his head, Scott reached for another cell to remove its fastenings, when a thin melodic voice startled him into bumping his head into the panel.

"Excuse me."

Carefully this time, he emerged from the tube, and looked around.

A girl was standing some two feet away from the lowered bow.

She was the most unusual and most beautiful creature Scott had ever seen. Her curly hair was light red, spiked with a generous portion of gold; her eyes were the clearest deep blue, big on the exquisitely-shaped triangular face; she was slim, but not skinny, and looked wonderful in her simple but well-made clothing. She couldn't be older than ten, from the looks of it, and Scott couldn't begin to fathom what this air-born, almost shiny creature could possibly be doing in a hole like that.

As he first caught a glimpse of the girl, he blinked. She blinked, too, making him remember his own appearance. He imagined he was not a pretty sight, covered from head to foot in rust and oily stains of various origin, with his hair disheveled, and his face blackened with dust. Any reasonable child would have been scared to death.

The girl looked at him ruefully, and then an enchanting self-conscious smile broke on her lips.

"Excuse me, sir. I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your work, but I'm... lost."

"Lost," he repeated automatically, his head buzzing in confusion.

"Yes, sir," she nodded, her smile broadening, as if she felt happy he understood her. "My father went to talk to the commander back there, and told me to take a look around, and I—"

"By yerself?" Scott asked incredulously, trying to make sense of her tale.

"Yes, sir," she nodded, showing her sincere desire to cooperate.

"Well," he said, straightening carefully and springing down to the ground. "Yer father has a lot of nerve."

If this little fairy queen were his daughter, he would have let her wander alone in a place like this over his dead body, no less. And if he saw someone like himself near her, God only knows what he would have thought.

Her face dimmed instantly, and somehow it was almost painful to see this change.

"My father is always so busy," she said quietly. "He promised me to tell about ships, but then he went to talk to that bald boring man, and I know he's not going to be back for a long time, and then we'll go straight home."

She sounded so defeated—it was heartbreaking. Scott couldn't help a smile.

"And ye want to know about ships, do ye?"

"Yes, sir!" her face had lit up again. "I like ships! Especially racing yachts!"

He chuckled, somewhat incredulously.

"Ye're in the wrong place then. There's nothing here, but a handful of old garbage scows."

She looked around in genuine fascination.

"They're pretty."

"Pretty?"

That was something new.

"Yes, sir. Dirty, though," she glanced at him mischievously. "Just like you."

He couldn't hold it, he laughed out loud. She grinned impishly, straightening her skirt in such a blunt copy of an adult woman's gesture that he laughed again. In a few years, she was going to be quite something.

"My name is Alika. What's yours?"

"Montgomery Scott, but everyone calls me Scotty."

"Maybe you can tell me about these ships, Mr. Scotty?"

"No, it's just Scotty, and I think I'd better get ye back to yer father before he starts worrying about ye."

"He won't," she waved her hand carelessly. "He's going to be busy for another six hours, he said. I asked another man over there about the ship he was working on, but he just shooed me away."

Scotty glanced briefly in the direction she was pointing. He could bet it was Demo she'd talked to. Only he could turn down this little angel in such a rude way. Still, the Ensign frowned with disapproval. What kind of father would act like that?

He looked down to find that she was holding his hand. Now, how did that happen?

"Listen, lassie—"

"Alika."

"Alika," he conceded. "It's not right that yer father doesn't know where ye are."

"He knows where I am!" she protested. "He _told_ me I could take a look around."

He stared at her suspiciously.

"Ye're sure about that?"

She assumed an expression of genuine indignation.

"Are you saying I'm lying?"

"God forbid," he caved hastily. "But—"

"Oh, _please_, Scotty? We're leaving for Earth tomorrow. I'm never going to see this place again! Please..."

This was unbearable. Whoever gave her these eyes, had committed a crime against mankind. He found himself going through his workload in his head. He was almost done with the power cells, he was always ahead of schedule. Harris would probably expect him to return for a new assignment, but then again, if he was busy... A couple of hours wouldn't hurt, would they? He could always pull another shift after that.

"All right," he said, and she gave a most undignified shriek of delight. "But ye stay close to me, and when I say it's over—it's over. Deal?"

"Deal! Oh, Scotty, you are wonderful!"

_I'm an idiot_, he thought blandly. _But at least, I'm not a heartless git like yer father_.

As an hour passed, he couldn't tell anymore which one of them was enjoying themselves more. He had never known a child to ask such intelligent questions or to be this quick-minded. Come to think of it, he had never known a girl—of any age—who would show this much interest in old rusty buckets of bolts.

She had a strange effect on him. He, who had always been tight-lipped with almost anyone, except Cor, and who had never had much success as a storyteller, had found himself remembering and even inventing stories about ships and their crews merely to amuse her. It was also true that he had never had such a captive and grateful audience. He tried to remember more suitable anecdotes—just to hear her silver laughter again.

What was it about this child that made her so compelling?

He didn't know. He didn't notice when he stopped paying attention to the track of time.

"I want some ice-cream," she announced, as they concluded their inspection of the first level. "You think it's possible to get some around here?"

Scotty thought about it for a moment. For some reason taking her to the Mess Hall, haunted by filthy and tired men and women taking their mid-shift breaks, didn't feel right. He looked at her dubiously.

"What kind do ye like?" he asked, having made a decision.

"Blueberry," she beamed.

"Wait here," he ordered as strictly as he could. "If I don't find ye right here on this spot, I'm gonna eat it myself."

She planted her feet resolutely to the ground, and looked up at him, smiling sweetly and demonstrating that she was carrying out her part of the bargain. He shook his head at himself and walked towards the cargo ship they had passed some time ago.

It took some negotiating and a promise to take the shift on the upcoming holidays, but in the end he was allowed to use the ship's replicator. Scott ordered a large bowl of blueberry ice-cream and a cup of coffee for himself.

It was difficult not to grin when he saw her, standing on the exact same spot he had left her, with an air of determined patience.

"Here," he said, handing her the bowl. "Yer prize. Probably not the best ye've ever had, but..."

"It's perfect!" she proclaimed through a mouthful of cool bluish mass. "You want some?"

"No," he shook his head, watching her wistfully. For some reason, sweets of any kind never agreed with him.

"Ye wanna go to the second level?" he asked her, when the ice-cream was dealt with. "I could show ye a real space yacht from out there."

"Really?" her eyes widened in anticipation. But then, she looked away. "No, I can't go there."

"Why not? Ye'll be with me, they'll let ye."

"It's not that. There's Security on the second level."

He was certain he wasn't going to like it.

"And?"

"And, if they see me, they'll take me back to the visitors' area," she sighed. "I wasn't supposed to leave it."

"Why am I not surprised?" he rolled his eyes. "Yer Dad must be going nuts."

"No, he's not," Alika protested. "He knows I'll turn up... I always do."

"Now, that's reassuring. C'mon."

"Where?"

"To find yer father."

She looked up at him pleadingly, but realized soon he wasn't going to concede this time. With charming deviousness, she changed the tactics.

"Can we go there _through_ the second level so that I can see the yacht?"

"Alika..."

"Oh, please, Scotty, what's the harm in that? I'm not gonna stop there, we'll just walk by. Please?"

He was fully aware that he was going to regret it.

"All right. But if ye slow down, just a little, I'll pick ye up and carry, ye hear?"

"Yes, sir!" she beamed. "Let's go."

Later, much later, he thought that it should have been easily predictable. She asked a question, one so smart he could not resist answering. Then, another one. Then another. Then she noticed another yacht and wanted to compare it with the first. Then, it was _'Just another five minutes, Scotty, when will I ever see the docking again?' _Then... he didn't even remember.

"They're beautiful, aren't they, Scotty?"

"Aye, lass. That they are."

"One day I'm gonna be flying one of them," she stated with admirable conviction. "My father's an engineer, but I want to be a pilot."

"Are ye any good?"

She looked him in the eye squarely.

"Are you?"

That gave him a pause. He had never thought about it quite this way. Engineering was his life, he had always known that. As for being good...

"Aye," he nodded finally, realizing it felt right. "Aye, lassie. I'm good."

"Well then," she smiled slyly and winked, "I'm gonna call you when I have my own ship."

He laughed again. He had probably laughed more that day than during the whole year to pass.

By the time they had reached the Commander's office, it was past 1800.

"Mr. Scott," Harris rose to his feet, looking formidable. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"It's all right, Commander," a tall handsome man, dressed in civilian clothes, had also risen at the sight of the unlikely pair of visitors. "Mr.—Scott, is it?—is not to blame. We have another perpetrator here."

He stared at the girl accusingly. Only now did Scott notice the remarkable resemblance.

"I haven't done anything wrong, father," Alika intoned ruefully. "I only asked Scotty to show me the ships..."

The man sighed, but not unkindly.

"We've been through this before, Alika. You should have told him who you are," he walked over to them and looked at Scotty apologetically. "Mr. Scott, please forgive my daughter's behavior. She interfered with your work, didn't she?"

Scotty didn't know what to say. Confirming Alika's guilt didn't feel right, but then, it was the truth, wasn't it?

"I don't... quite know how it happened, sir," he admitted finally.

The man looked at him sympathetically.

"_I_ do. Alika is half-Deltan, Mr. Scott. You're lucky she's only nine, or you might well have been married by now."

"Half-Deltan?" Scott repeated, astounded.

"I'm afraid so. My name is Duncan Riggs, by the way, and my wife is Eleia—"

"The new Deltan Ambassador to the Federation," Harris finished with quiet triumph. "I wouldn't be surprised if you were arrested for kidnapping her daughter."

"I..." Scott looked from one to the other, and finally his eyes came to rest on the source of his troubles. She looked as innocently sweet as ever as she smiled at him. "I'm sorry... Mr. Ambassador... I mean—Mr. Riggs. I..."

"It really is all right, Ensign," Riggs placed a hand on his shoulder. "If anyone should apologize here, it's me. I shouldn't have brought her with me, in the first place, but when she asks for something..."

"Aye," Scott nodded empathically. "I know what ye mean. How can ye... Begging yer pardon, sir, but how can ye live with two of them in the house?"

Riggs laughed good-naturedly.

"Make it four, young man, and you'll get an accurate picture of my private hell."

"Four?" Scotty repeated aghast.

"Eleia's sister is staying with us on Earth with her baby-daughter. She and my wife control their charms... somewhat. Alika and Ilia, though—that's another story."

Scott looked at him with newfound respect.

"Ye're a brave man, sir."

"You have no idea," Riggs shook his head. "Well," he sighed and looked back at Harris. "Now that this little imp is back, we'll be going. Thank you for your time, Commander. Come, Alika."

"Goodbye, Scotty," Alika squeezed his hand in both her own. "I'll let you know about that ship."

"Goodbye, lassie," he grinned back and winked. "Smooth sailing."

She replied by masterfully imitating an 'at attention' pose and saluting him.

"You were unbelievably careless, Ensign," Harris told him as soon as the door closed behind them. "And unbelievably lucky. Now, if you don't want a reprimand, I suggest you finish your assignment."

"Aye, sir," Scott replied incredulously. He couldn't believe he would get off the hook that easily. "Thank ye, sir."

Harris only shook his head in exasperation.

_If Cor should hear about that,_ Scotty thought, walking down to the abandoned courier vessel, _he's never gonna let me live it down._

--

_**2271**_

"Mr. Scott."

He lifted up his head to see a beautiful Deltan walk into his study.

"Lieutenant."

She smiled at him, a little self-consciously.

"You and I haven't met before," she said in her tender melodic voice. "But when I received orders to join the _Enterprise_ crew, my cousin asked me to find you and give you this."

She handed him a small holocard. Intrigued, Scotty set it down on his desk and tapped to activate.

For a moment, the image had stolen his breath away. It was the most beautifully designed space yacht he had ever seen.

"I don't quite know what it means," Ilia said, watching his reaction, "but my sister asked me to tell you that now she is good. Really good, she said. Do you know what it means, Mr. Scott?"

"Aye," he nodded, grinning like he hadn't done in years. "Aye, lass. I do know."

She smiled a painfully familiar smile back at him, bowed her head and walked away.


End file.
